


Hello, I Am A Wreck Of A Man Living With My Sister And Her Daughter

by ServantOfMischief



Series: Soft Comforts [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Because it is don't fight me, Child Neglect, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is So Done (Good Omens), Crowley's siblings stepping up for him, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Human AU, Hurt Crowley, Protective Crowley, Sequel to Hey I Drew You In A Coffee Shop At Christmas You're Welcome, multichapter this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ServantOfMischief/pseuds/ServantOfMischief
Summary: This will have two or three chapters. First sequel, tell me your thoughts!Shout at me at my tumblr: ServantOfMischief if you wanna talk!I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!





	1. I'm Here Now

**Author's Note:**

> I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!

He searches through the fake potted plant hanging by the name sign by the door, and digs out the spare key Babylon keeps there. He opens the door and enters, toing off his shoes as he ventures further in. It hasn’t changed much from when he was here last… when was that again? Shit, that was Tonya’s birthday, wasn’t it? That’s months ago. He is the absolute worst brother and shittiest uncle to ever exist, isn’t he? He shakes his head.

“None of that.” He tells himself as he yanks off his sunglasses. He can’t go around looking down on himself, because he isn’t the worst person in the bloody world, now is he? Babylon would never have come for him if he is. So he takes a deep breath, and exhales loudly. People make mistakes, and life moves on. He’s made a mistake, but he’s going to move on and get over it. It might take time, rather he knows it will take time, but looking back and trying to figure out what and when and why’s isn’t going to help him. Instead, he pulls out that drawing he was handed earlier, and stares at it. It’s… rather nice, isn’t it? He sure feels flattered now, because it is really well-done, and, well… He looks good, doesn’t he? At least the artist seems to think so.

Flattering indeed. He lays it down on the living room table and saunters into the kitchen, starts up the coffee maker and moves about in the kitchen. He pauses for a bit, feeling hungry. He checks the time, and then the refrigerator. There is a lot he can work with here, he sees, so he decides to surprise Babylon and Tonya when they return from kindergarten. He hopes they think it’s a good surprise too. No matter what he tells himself, his self-esteem and self-worth has taken a brutal hit. But when he hears the doors open sometime later, hears Tonya question who is there, and Babylon telling the girl to go and find out with a amused tone of voice, he feels a whole lot better when he turns to look over his shoulder, seeing the little blonde girl standing in the doorway, seeing her eyes grow wide and a huge grin stretching across her face. She’s going to grow up looking more like her mother than father, and Crowley can’t help but be happy for it. She’ll be better off for it.

“Uncle Tony!” She yells and charges forward, and he turns just in time to lift her up in the air. She wraps her arms around his neck, laughing and chattering excitedly about her day, why he’s there, that she’s happy he’s there, what he’s making them for dinner, and how long will he stay?

“I’ll be staying for some time, I think. I’ll be taking the guestroom, kiddo.”

“You’re sleeping over?” She asks, pulling back to stare wide-eyed at him, and he nods. “For a few weeks, maybe longer even.” She seems extremely excited by that as Babylon walks into the kitchen, whistling.

“Ooh, spaghetti and meatballs ala Anthony, huh?”

“That’s what you get for inviting me to stay.” Crowley sasses and she just shakes her head.

“That’s not bad at all. You make dinner, and I’ll let you off any other housework while you stay here.”

“Deal.” He reaches out with one hand, wiggling his fingers and she shakes it, before plating the table. Crowley continues to cook while holding Tonya up with one arm, as she begins to tell him all about what she’s been doing lately, as he hasn’t been visiting a lot lately.

“Sorry about that, kiddo. Things have been a bit busy lately.” He apologizes, and Tonya looks at him.

“Where’s Luci?” And Crowley freezes for a moment, before continuing to stir the sauce.

“Lucifer won’t be coming over anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because we decided to each go our own way.” Crowley says. It’s a lie, there was no decision they came to agree on, it was rather a slap to the face walking into their flat, really. But Tonya is five and shouldn’t know the gritty details because she can’t understand the gritty details. And really, wouldn’t it be nice if she never experienced the same thing herself?

“That’s stupid of him.” Tonya says. “You’re great, why would he go somewhere you won’t?” She asks and he finds it hard to swallow, a lump in his throat clogging up everything. Babylon seem to notice, and comes to take Tonya away from him.

“How about we talk about something else, hm? Like about what you made at kindergarten today? Why don’t you go pick it up, hm? Show it to uncle Tony?”

“Okay!” Tonya says and races out of the kitchen. The moment she’s gone, Babylon lays a hand on his back. He gives her a small smile as thanks.

“You okay?”

“No.” He admits. “But I will be.” This seem to reassure her as she hugs him sideways.

“We’ll be here for you, okay? Lean on us, yeah? Like I looked to you when I was pregnant with Tonya.” He hugs her back, nodding, telling her he will. After all, he’s in her apartment making dinner, isn’t he? And he just promised Tonya he’d stay there for a few weeks at the very least. That in itself should have made it pretty obvious he’s at least accepting this much help from her. He’s not going to lie to the little girl, what kind of uncle would he be then? What kind of person would he be then? Crowley is many things, but he’s not the worst person in the world.

“Beelzebub called while I was picking up Tonya. She says she’s coming home a few days earlier. To help out.” They’ve always been close-knit, all three of them. It’s weird, because they’re all so different, but Crowley wonders if it’s because of how their home-life had been when growing up. In all reality, they only had each other, didn’t they? And Beelzebub… She may have realized that even as a kid. Crowley wonders how long she knew she wasn’t their dad’s daughter.

“That’s nice.” Tonya choses that moment to return, showing her uncle the wrist-bracelet she had made at kindergarten, with pearls in all the colours of the rainbow, sorted by colour.

“I’ve learned the _alfabet_!” Tonya says proudly. “I tried putting them in alpha-alp-alfbetic-“ She tries before blowing a raspberry.

“Alphabetic order?” Babylon supplies and the girl nods enthusiastically, then tugs on Crowley’s hand, making him crouch down in front of her. She slips the wrist-bracelet around his wrist and pats it, making sure it stays before she looks up at him with a rather serious expression which does not mix with the excitement she had shown earlier.

“For you, uncle Tony. Remember I love you, okay? I’ll always go the same way you do.” And he feels that lump in his throat again and feels tears start welling up in his eyes. Before she can see, he pulls her into an embrace. She hugs him back, patting his back and saying “there, there,”, as if she knows exactly how he feels, and Babylon finds herself smiling a bit at the sight.

“Let’s eat, hm? How long since you ate Anthony’s cooking, Tonya?”

“Too long!” The girl exclaims, pulling herself out of her uncle’s hug and tugs him towards the table. He nearly tumbles over at the pull from the excited five-year old, but manages to gather himself before he falls flat on his face. They all take a seat by the table and eat, and the conversation brings about a feeling of _normal _and _loneliness._ Crowley has missed this. Of course, when they last sat down like this, when they lived together, Tonya was so small she sat in a baby-chair. How old was she when he and Babylon moved out into their own apartments? Shit, she was just a year and a half, wasn’t she?

Suddenly Babylon’s phone starts ringing, but she ignores it for the sake of enjoying their dinner with her daughter and brother. It falls silent not long after, but when he it suddenly blares to life again, she puts down her fork, excuses herself and leaves to retrieve it. Crowley raises a brow and Tonya suddenly just starts moving her food around with her fork.

“It’s dad.” She says quietly, and Crowley turns his head towards her.

“Hm?”

“When someone calls like that, on and off, it’s dad.” Tonya repeats, and Crowley wonders how often this happens, because the girl seem to understand that things might be a bit strained between her parents. Crowley finds it sad that she can understand that much, but also knows he shouldn’t be surprised. Children are very perceptive, more than adults give them credit for sometimes. And no matter how hard Babylon might try to cover it up, Tonya was bound to notice.

“Uncle Tony?” She puts down her fork and looks up at him, orange eyes suddenly welling with tears.

“Yeah?”

“Does my dad hate me?” And his heart very, nearly breaks for her right then and there. Forget his own troubles, nothing is worse than a little girl who thinks her father dislikes her just because he cannot deal with the responsibility.

“What- _no_, of course not! What makes you say that?” He chokes out, because no, he doesn’t believe Oliver hates Tonya. Oliver just wasn’t ready to be a dad when she was born, and has acclimated himself poorly to the whole thing. Babylon was no more prepared than he was, but at least she makes Tonya feel loved and appreciated.

“Dad was supposed to pick me up today, but he never came. He doesn’t want me, does he?” Crowley isn’t quite sure what to say to that at first, but shakes his head and soldiers on. He’s got to tell her something, something that will cheer her up for a bit. Even if he doesn’t know the truth himself either, but Tonya will believe him.

“Hey, you know, I think it became like this because I was coming over. Your dad probably thought you’d want to see me, yeah?”

“But you’re staying for weeks, you said so.” Tonya doesn’t look like she believes him.

“Your dad doesn’t know that. He knew I was coming over this weekend, but I haven’t told him I’m staying that long. But I’m sure you’ll have your weekend with him soon, yeah? Don’t worry, kiddo, he didn’t mean anything bad by it. Just tell him what you feel next time you meet him, I’m sure it’ll be alright.”

“You promise?” Tonya sniffs, one lone tear falling down her cheek. It’s dangerous to promise something he doesn’t know for certain, so he reaches out and wipes the tear away, cupping her cheek.

“I can promise that no matter what happens, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

“You’ll visit more often too? Even when you leave?”

“Oh yes.” He nods. “I’ll arrange for a sleepover, you, me, mom, maybe even auntie Beelz. How’s that sound?”

“Can we watch Disney movies?”

“We’ll watch _all_ the Disney movies!” He exclaims and she giggles, mood brightening immediately, and Crowley finds himself thinking he is successful in cheering her up, but that he needs to talk to Babylon about it when Tonya is asleep. It’s not good that she’s thinking Oliver wants nothing to do with her, not at this age, not at any age, really. She doesn’t deserve that. And Crowley wonders if she had ever thought he didn’t want anything to do with her either, considering he doesn’t visit often.

He sincerely hopes she never felt like that.

When Babylon returns, she doesn’t appear to be annoyed or angry, so Crowley wonders for a moment if it actually was Oliver who called, and if it was, perhaps he had a good reason as to why he didn’t pick up Tonya. Somehow, Crowley can’t quite bring himself to believe that. But Babylon reveals nothing in her body language or tone of voice, so Crowley lets the matter drop for now. Tonya, on the other hand, excitedly tells her mother about the plans she and Crowley has made.

“Now that sounds fun, doesn’t it?” Babylon agrees, shooting Crowley a grateful look. After dinner, they all settle on the couch, letting the girl watch some children’s cartoons before she starts nodding off. That is when Babylon sends her off to get ready for bed.

“Only if uncle Tony reads me a bedtime story!” The girl says petulantly, as if she’s the one entirely in control of the whole situation. Babylon is about to tell her that she’ll read her a story, but Crowley cuts in.

“Sure. I’ll do it, but you’ve got to listen to your mom, yeah?” The girl nods and runs off, and Crowley ambles after her to help her when she calls on him. Babylon is left on the couch, and once Crowley is out of her sight, she sighs and sinks further down the couch, running a hand through her hair.

To be honest, Babylon wants to cry, she wants to scream, she wants to _bloody murder Oliver_. She’ll never forgive him for this latest stunt of his. For all his pretty words during the last five years, she’s yet to see him actually _execute_ any plan he has come up with. She doesn’t even have to _let him_ meet Tonya, not according to the law, but she did back then because Tonya needs a dad, right? And Babylon had believed him back then. She didn’t have all that much faith in him for her own sake, but for Tonya, yes. So she had allowed him to be a part of their daughter’s life, and now Babylon regrets it so much. She isn’t blind, she knows that every little rejection from Oliver hurts the girl so much. She wishes she’d just kept him out of it, because he’s doing nothing to contribute to her growth and happiness. He is literally only causing misery.

But she can’t cry, or scream, or murder anyone (because murder is bad, seriously, it is), because her brother is here and she doesn’t want him to see her like this. Crowley’s got enough to deal with on his own. She didn’t invite him over just to have him listen to her and hold her as she cries. She’s an adult now, she has to prioritize. Crowley first, she needs to help him out first, then she might ask advice of him. So she rubs her face, exhales one more sigh, before she reaches for the controller Crowley left on the table, only to pause at the piece of paper she didn’t notice lying there earlier. She picks it up, and nearly squeals. When Crowley returns, she holds it up, grinning widely.

“_What is this?” _He flushes a deep red and this time she really does squeal as he snatches it out of her hands. She lets him, not wanting to tear it up. It’s far too beautiful to be ruined.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, it is now! Who did this?”

“Don’t know.” She blinks, surprised.

“What?”

“Someone at the coffee shop. Got it after you left.” And so he proceeds to tell her about what happened after she left, and she grins so widely at him, clapping her hands.

“Oh you have _got_ to go back there!”

“What for?”

“To meet this mystery artist, _of bloody course!_” And while Crowley had tried to find out who it was before he left the shop, right now he just… no. He can’t go around setting himself up for heartbreak again. Just because the artist drew him it doesn’t mean that he is interested in him. He was just good practice at the time, right? No, what Crowley needs to do right now is get himself together, find himself his own place to live, and invest time in his siblings and niece. If he hurries into another relationship, it’ll just end up in him keeping away again, won’t it? And then, perhaps Tonya will feel like Crowley doesn’t love her either, that all he said was just pretty words to make her feel better.

“No.” He says, and Babylon frowns at him. “Not right now.” He amends.

“I’m going to invest time in myself and you guys first. Then we’ll see. Speaking of you, what happened today? With Oliver?” And Babylon’s good mood vanishes again.

“Called and said he was out of town. Again. I’ve had it with him and his excuses. It’s not even work-related, I know that. If it had been work-related, I might have forgiven him for it. I don’t want to let him see her anymore, because he never shows up. Not for a single event. He barely shows up to her birthdays. I’m just worried that if I cut him out of our lives, Tonya will suffer for it.” Crowley can understand that Babylon is carefully threading over a minefield, but she needs to know how Tonya feels, so he tells her what Tonya had asked about during dinner. The blonde nearly bursts out crying.

“I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“You did, at least to me. Kids are just… very perceptive. You’re her whole world, you know. She watches you every day, you’re close, she probably senses it, or something like that.” Crowley tries to explain, and she nods.

“Yeah, yeah you’re probably right.”

“Babylon, I want to apologize for not being here when you needed me, or as often as you and Tonya would like. I just…” He wonders if he should mention what Oliver said in the hospital five years ago. He’s kept it to himself because he didn’t want any bad blood between them, but considering how the other man is continuously letting down his sister and niece, he doesn’t feel like hiding it anymore.

“I’ve been focusing too much on my own relationship, and that’s on me. But I mainly kept away because, well, Oliver and I talked at the hospital. And apparently I scare him, and that’s why he wasn’t there when Tonya was born. Because I was there. So we… we agreed I’d keep away, so he could be with you two.” Thinking back on it, it is rather stupid, but at the time it had seemed so important. Important to a good family life for the three of them. But it’s never been good, not with Oliver in the picture. Babylon is doing her best as a single mom, with a father on the side who checks in when he can be bothered to do it. Babylon goes very, very still beside him, and when he dares look her way, she looks so furious. To the point he actually shifts a bit away from her, ready for a scolding, before she just deflates.

“You stayed away because you didn’t think we wanted you here?” And she sounds so sad and small he feels instantly bad.

“Oliver didn’t-“

“I don’t give two flying fucks what Oliver wants!” She hisses and she’s back to being furious. “He’s not here, _you _are. Tonya’s dad is never here, but her uncle is! You’re her uncle, but you care much more about her than Oliver ever did!” And while he believes that Babylon is speaking the truth, it’s just so sad to hear. Because this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

“If I cut Oliver out of her life, and you stick around, she’ll be much better off of it. And me too.” But how going about doing that without crushing the little girl’s heart? Now that is the question, isn’t it? And Babylon falters again as she sags against her brother.

“Just… You know, one thing at a time? First we’ll find you a place to live, and then, we’ll get your things, help you move into your new place and all. I have a friend who rents out apartments in Mayfair. It’s not too far from here, I’ll ask if he’s got anything, or if he knows of any empty apartments in the area. We’ll get you situated, okay?”

“My problems aren’t any more important than yours-“

“No, but they’re easier to handle. You first, me afterwards.” And Crowley doesn’t argue on it. He lets it go, and lets Babylon lead the show this time. Two days later he’s told that her friend has an apartment which will be empty after New Years. After a quick look around inside, he agrees to take it. Thankfully, the building has a storage unit which is empty, and Crowley is told he is allowed to store his belongings there until the apartment is ready for him. So Crowley sends his ex-partner a text;

_Found a new place, will be getting my things tomorrow. Got my keys, don’t bother sticking around to keep the door open._

He doesn’t get a response, but is glad for it all the same. Beelzebub does actually show up way earlier than planned, and while Tonya is in kindergarten, the three of them head over to Crowley’s former flat with a van. There isn’t much in the apartment he wants, as he has decided to buy himself new furniture, new bed, new couch, new table etc. But he needs his clothes, and he wants his plants. Hopefully they haven’t been too neglected during his absence. Thankfully, when they arrive, they’re actually looking rather good. Carefully he and Beelzebub carry the plants down the flights of stairs and stores them in the van, while Babylon packs his clothes down into a couple of suitcases and bags.

It all goes rather well, really. They’ve almost got all of the belongings Crowley wants to bring with him into the van when a car pulls up into the parking lot. Crowley tenses, because he recognizes it, and Babylon shoots him a worried glance while Beelzebub shoves the last of Crowley’s belongings into their vehicle.

“Anthony.” Crowley ignores the man, face unreadable as he moves towards the van, asking Beelzebub if that was the last of what they had packed together. The dark-haired woman nods.

“Anthony, talk to me.” But Crowley ignores him completely. And Babylon follows suit, not sparing Lucifer a glance.

“_Anthony!” _Lucifer shouts now, and Crowley levels him with a glare from behind his sunglasses.

“Let’s talk it out. You owe me that much.” Both Babylon and Beelzebub want to tell the other man to shut his mouth, because Crowley owes him nothing. They’re worried Crowley will cave, let the man talk and listen. Because Lucifer is good at talking, good at making himself appear good, to worm his way out of trouble.

But Crowley will hear none of it. Not this time.

“I owe you absolutely nothing, asshole.” And Beelzebub punctuates the sentence by slamming the backdoors of the van harder than is strictly necessary and yanks open the door to the driver’s seat.

“Let’s get going, yes? Things to do, belongings to move, Christmas to plan, holidays to celebrate, come on!” She bellows and the other two climbs into the vehicle as well. Crowley doesn’t even spare Lucifer a glance as he tosses the apartment keys out of the window of the van. The drive back to Mayfair is quiet, and they’re quiet as they unload the things Crowley wants left there. The plants, and a bag of clothes they bring back to Babylon’s apartment.

Once Tonya comes back home, she’s ecstatic to see her uncle’s plants filling the apartment. She’s always loved his plants, and she begs him to let her water them while they’re here. She’s allowed to, as long as he gets to be there with here, just so that he can keep her from overwatering them, though he doesn’t tell her that of course.

He won’t admit to himself that he is waiting for it, but he never receives a call from the mystery artist. Probably for the best, never being called up. He’s got other things to do. Like celebrating the best Christmas Tonya’s ever experienced! When he wrestles the, frankly too big, Christmas tree through Babylon’s door, the little girl’s eyes light up like it’s already Christmas Eve. Babylon rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything because she has given him free reigns on the bloody tree. So the four of them hang the ornaments over the tree, and Crowley lifts Tonya up to sit on his shoulders and she carefully, tongue peeking out between pursed lips, puts the star at the top.

“I did it!” She throws her hands in the air in triumph, and tumbles off Crowley’s shoulders and into his arms with a squeal.

“You did!” They then proceed to place all the presents beneath the tree, before Tonya climbs onto Beelzebub’s lap, demanding a story. Beelzebub gives Crowley a look, but the ginger retreats to the kitchen where Babylon is preparing dinner, leaving the dark-haired woman to defend for herself.

“How’s it going out there?” Babylon asks and Crowley shrugs.

“Tree’s done. Presents beneath and Tonya occupying Beelz’s attention. Apparently, our older sister has to tell your girl a story.”

“Are we sure Tonya should listen to any of Beelzebub’s stories?” There’s a pause before Crowley shrugs.

“Beelz’s a lawyer. She knows what lines not to cross.”

“Does she?” They share a laugh before Crowley glances up nervously. “What is it?”

“Is… Is, uh, Oliver coming to celebrate with us tomorrow?”

“Haven’t asked him.” Babylon replies curtly.

“Babylon… You haven’t argued with him, for my sake?”  


“I haven’t talked to him since you got here, actually.” She says as if it is nothing, and he frowns. “For your information, he hasn’t attempted at getting into contact with me either, so it’s not like I’ve ignored him.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Oh shoot!” Babylon suddenly curses, looking through the cabinets above the stove. “Can you do me a favour?”

“What?” She makes a beeline for the counter and pulls out a slip of paper.

“I’m missing a few ingredients; can you go run to the grocery shop and fetch them for me?”

“This is more than just a few ingredients.” He notes as he looks down the note. It won’t take long to fetch them, but still.

“Okay, yes, fine, it is a shopping list. But I really am missing these two things for tonights dinner.” She points at the last two scribbled items.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go get them.” He tells her, ambling out the kitchen.

“Don’t take too long!” She calls after him. It’s a quick trip, because most people are at home at the moment, the day before Christmas. At this time, anyway. A short reprieve before the stress.

“Hey, hey Anthony!” Crowley turns around and watches as Oliver jogs up to him. He’s got many choice words for this man, but he keeps them to himself.

“I hear you’ve been at Babylon’s.”

“Yeah. I’m living there until my new apartment is ready.” He says, not seeing any reason as to keep it a secret that he’s staying with Babylon and Tonya.

“Right. Where are you going to spend Christmas?” And, really, Crowley shouldn’t be surprised this question turned up, so he brings himself to his full height, which is almost a good head taller than Oliver as he glares from behind his shades.

“With Babylon, Tonya and Beelzebub.” Oliver frowns.

“Man, we had a deal-“

“Shut the fuck up, you little shit.” Crowley is deadly calm as he says the words. No hissing, no shouting, not even a raised voice, and Oliver blinks.

“How about instead of coming up with shitty excuses, you do some growing up?” Crowley begins. “I kept away, I did, thought it was best for Tonya to have her dad around, but you’re never around, are you, Oliver?”

“I try-“

“You don’t try!” Crowley snaps, finally showing some anger. “If you tried, Tonya wouldn’t ask me whether or not her dad hates her. You’ve fucked up, and you keep on saying you can’t be there for them if I am. But you’re never there, you’re out there doing god knows what, instead on focusing on your family. I’m done.” Crowley says, inhaling.

“I’m done keeping away. They’re my family too. I have a right to be with them, and if you’ve got a problem being around when I am, then the problem isn’t me, it’s you. If you can’t work this out like a bloody adult, then don’t expect me to back off to accommodate you. I’m done with your bullshit. Either take some goddamn responsibility or fuck off.” He waits for a moment to allow Oliver to come with an input, anything really, but when the younger man just stares at him, mouth open in dumbstruck silence, the ginger turns on his heels and marches back to the apartment.

Christmas is celebrated without Oliver this year, but that’s okay for Tonya, because when her uncle asks, she tells him this.

“It’s okay. You and auntie Beelz are here, and that’s better than anything!”


	2. Hello, My Turn Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale doesn't go out to the coffee shop because he hopes to see the redhead again. Really. He's a mature adult, he doesn't believe in fairy tales and their happy endings in real life. Really. Really!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just so blown away with the response this series have gotten. I mean, thank you so much, everyone, it means so much to me! This one is a bit shorter, but the next one will be nice and long, I promise!

Aziraphale never actually goes out often, other than to eat at his favourite spots, and he never often visits the coffee shop either. Now though, he finds himself frequenting it quite often in the mornings. Both hoping and not hoping that he’ll see Anthony again. Is it weird using the man’s name when they don’t actually know one another? When they’ve never actually spoken to each other or interacted with each other? When all Aziraphale did was draw him, and then have the waitress hand over the sketch and apology note because the blonde was far too mortified and embarrassed to do it himself?

It is, isn’t it?

He shakes his head, sighing. Best not to think about it, he decides, and keeps on visiting the shop in the mornings. One morning, when it’s so early the café is practically empty with the exception of him with his book, _that_ waitress is there again. She smiles at him, as kindly and politely as she did the last time, and he returns it. He’s barely sat himself down when she plops into the seat across from him. Aziraphale nearly drops his teacup, so startled is he at her sudden arrival at his table.

“Did he ring you yet?” She asks in that heavy Scottish accent, eyes nearly sparkling with curiosity.

“No.” Aziraphale is startled. “I, um, I didn’t give him my number.” The waitress blinks, tilting her head, looking for all in the world like a very confused puppy.

“Did you ring him then?” He flushes a deep red, shaking his head rapidly. Oh lord he is embarrassed, so utterly lost in this because he’s not used to people showing an interest in him, or his personal life.

“No! N-no I haven’t… I haven’t had the courage yet.” He admits quietly. It’s been weeks since that day, and Aziraphale has lost count of how many times he began to dial the number on the napkin, only to put the phone down as nerves overcame him. No, he’s been backing out too often. He doubts he’ll ever find the courage to call, even if it seemed like Anthony did enjoy the sketch. Aziraphale sighs and brings his cup to his lips. He’s blown his chance, well and truly, just because the very idea of calling someone who willingly gave him their number is just so… _daunting._

“Do you come here because you’re hoping to run into him?” The question is rather innocent, there is no malice or any trace of her attempting to tease him in the tone of her voice. He still very nearly spits the tea right back out at the waitress’ question, and she actually dives to the side just in case the beverage is projectiled in her direction. She slowly sits up straight again, as he coughs and tries to get himself under control again.

“I know it’s rude to ask, and I’m a stranger, but I got so curious about how it ended.” She’s right, it is rude to pry because they don’t know one another, really, but then again, Aziraphale himself had listened in on Anthony’s conversations and drawn him without asking for consent…

“Don’t be.” He says, finally. “I literally made you my accomplice in the whole thing.” The waitress lights up.

“As for your question: yes and no.”

“For the same reason you haven’t called him yet?” He pouts, and the waitress laughs.

“Before I forget, you’re the one owning the art gallery slash bookshop down the street, aren’t you?” Aziraphale nods and the woman sits up a bit straighter.

“I have a book report I’ve got to do. Do you got any recommendations?” At that the blonde brightens up, because this is a subject he is well versed in, a subject in which he will not be flustered or embarrassed, but _shine_ in, and Aziraphale’s always liked to share his knowledge of books.

“Oh do I!” The waitress jots down his long list of books he believes she’ll enjoy.

“Any chance you have any of these?” She asks him

“Oh, yes, well…” He does have them, he’d just really rather not sell them. They’re amongst his many favourites after all. It had taken a long time and much effort to find and acquire them. They are first-editions and-

“Is it possible to read them at your shop? Write notes for my report there? I’m a student, don’t have much money to buy loads of books for a report.” She admits with a bashful smile.

“Oh yes! I have a few reading nooks in my shop! I’d be delighted to have you over!” They exchange their names, and the waitress now known as Jean, goes back to work. A few days later Jean enters the shop, a large backpack on her back. Aziraphale shows her to a corner where a cosy armchair is nestled by a window and a small table. As the waitress skims the rows for a book to read, Aziraphale disappears into the backroom. When she’s nestled herself into the chair, he returns with a cup of hot cocoa. She smiles at him.

It becomes their little routine, with him either coming to the coffee shop and chattering with her when she has the time or her coming to the bookshop, nestled in that corner which she has claimed as her own while she reads. Once she’s done with the book, she asks him about his own opinions of the material, and he gladly discusses them with her, finding her sharing her own opinion on what she has read to be quite the satisfying conversation piece. He doesn’t have many he can talk about books with, so he enjoys this as much as he can. Soon enough though, not too long into this new friendship with the waitress, their conversation topics change over onto relationships, and why Aziraphale has yet to call the mystery model yet.

“You should though.” Jean says as she blows on the hot cocoa.

“It’s been too long now.” Aziraphale shakes his head. “He’s probably forgotten all about it by now.” Jean gives him a look, and he feels like she’s silently telling him he’s stupid.

“If someone drew me at a coffee shop, I sure as hell wouldn’t forget it.” She points out and Aziraphale pouts.

“Well… He seemed to have a lot of stuff on his mind, so-“

“Stop coming up with stupid reasons.” Jean cuts him off with a shake of her head and quiet laughter. “He liked it, really, he did. What did the note say? That he’ll love to model again? Come on, Aziraphale!”

“Hmph!”

It’s the end of January now, and Aziraphale finds himself in the coffee shop around midday again. He just hadn’t had the energy to get up and go to the coffee shop in the morning, having felt quite lethargic and exhausted for some reason. Now he has managed to get out of the house, but quite frankly, he can’t quite focus on his book today. Nothing seems to be going his way today, but that’s okay. Everyone’s got bad days, and Aziraphale prefers to keep to himself in his shop on his bad days. He’s about to give up and go home, when the bell chimes.

“You’re so slow, uncle Tony!” He hears a young child laugh, and the hurried light steps of said child.

“Don’t run around inside, kiddo.” And the blonde freezes in his spot. He dares a glance upwards, and lo and behold, there Anthony is, in the flesh. Aziraphale stares over the top of his book as the man orders a beverage for himself and a biscuit for the child clinging to his hand, tugging at him this way and that, watches how the ginger’s lips curl upwards as the girl chatters, until he hands her the biscuit. The girl is a lovely little blonde, with quite orange eyes. If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, he’d say the child was almost a perfect younger replica of the woman who had sat with the redhead the first time he saw him.

“I want ice cream.”

“And which one of us will explain to your mom why your appetite is ruined before dinner, hm?” The girl pouts, but doesn’t argue as they find themselves a table. Again, Aziraphale finds himself drawing the redhead before he can even think about it. There’s just something satisfying by drawing this man, Aziraphale realizes. It’s so _easy_, like he doesn’t have to consciously think of each stroke of his pencil, like it’s just drawing itself. He’s halfway done with his drawing, when he realizes that the child sitting with the ginger is staring with him.

He’s been caught!

Mortified, Aziraphale gathers his things and rushes out of the coffee shop, head ducked down to avoid anyone seeing his face. Only when he’s safely inside his home does he realize that he has overreacted. Extremely so, too. With a groan he slinks into the backroom to make himself a cup of tea, because he sorely needs something to calm his still racing nerves. Caught by a child… Children are terrifyingly perceptive, aren’t they? If this is how he’s going to be found out, then _oooff_. Aziraphale should have made that blasted call weeks ago.

The next day Jean comes by, and he explains why he left in such a rush the other day when she asks. She cackles, loudly and quite un-lady-like, and he finds her reaction most unhelpful.

“Has he come by yet, though?”

“No?”

“Then I don’t think the girl ratted you out. I think you’re safe.”

“Oh thank the lord!” But really, is he thankful for it? Of course he is! How mortifying would it not be, if the redhead walked in and just shouted: Why did you draw me, and never call, weirdo? Look at me, dashingly handsome man that I am, and you pass up on me? Okay, he might not say _all _of that, but still. Oh he’d be absolutely, frightfully embarrassed! So very, very embarrassed! Jean looks almost a little bit disappointed and he threatens with never making her his special recipe hot cocoa again if she doesn’t keep it to herself. She relents, because he really does make some scary good cocoa. Days pass, but nothing happens and Aziraphale is feeling better about it all. Until said redhead walks through the door a week afterwards and Aziraphale drops his teacup to the floor, which is a shame because it is his favourite cup and really, he _just _brewed that beverage!

Tickety-fucking-boo.


	3. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because why WOULDN'T Crowley come into Aziraphale's bookshop at some point?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response I've been getting for the other two chapters, guys I am in TEARS! Every time I get notifications I just start beaming because all of you are being so incredibly nice??? I can't even?? 
> 
> Anyways, this is the final chapter of this fic. There will, at least, be another sequel where you'll see more of Crowley and Aziraphale interactions!
> 
> Also, pinkpiggy93 has made more art, specifically for this chapter and the first chapter of part 4! Go give her some love, guys!

Crowley finds himself in the coffee shop again, for a third time. As he waits for his order to arrive, he discreetly looks around to see if he can see anyone with a sketchbook, or anyone he might have seen when he was there the first time.

Not that he actually paid much attention to anything that day, really. He had been a bit… preoccupied with all of what was happening that day. It had been overwhelming, really. But now, after a good, no, a _great_ family Christmas which they have all agreed on they’ll be repeating again next year and having moved into his new apartment and celebrated a slow New Years with Babylon and Tonya, Crowley feels rather calm again. His classes have started back up, and the students are as enthusiastic about the subjects as they should be. Everything feels normal again. And much more enjoyable, now that he is free to do whatever he wants without having to check in with any partner about having already made plans or anything like that. It makes spur on the moment happenings easier to accept. His phone starts ringing, and he answers.

“Yeah?”

“_Uncle Tony!” _He smiles, fingers curling around the handle of the cup the waitress puts down in front of him. He remembers her, at least. She’s the one who gave him the note and the picture. Maybe he can try and wiggle some information out of her once he’s done with this phone call. Perhaps she’ll be a bit more helpful this time than she was the last time.

“Hullo, sweetheart. What can I do for you?”

“_I have a secret!”_ The girl whisper-yells into the phone and he raises a brow.

“Really? And what is that?”

“_I can only tell you if it’s okay for me to come and do a sleepover on Friday!” _He blinks, surprised, but pleasantly so as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“You know you’re always welcome at my place, kiddo. What’s this secret?” Tonya is quiet for some time, before she whispers again.

“_I think mommy has a boyfriend.” _Crowley laughs, because the way the little girl whispers it makes it sound like it’s the latest gossip between elderly ladies in tiny little neighbourhoods. He remembers well how, when he went to and from school each day, he could see elderly ladies sitting outside on their patios, drinking tea and not-so-subtly pointing at everyone passing them by, talking in not-so-hushed-tones. On a different note, Crowley hopes Tonya won’t grow up to become like that.

“Does she?”

_“You didn’t know either?” _The little girl sounds scandalized and Crowley bites his lip to keep from laughing again.

“No, I didn’t. I can ask her about it, if you’d like? Ask if you can come stay with me this weekend if she’s got plans, or having you stay over anyways. That’s what you want, innit?”

_“Yes!”_

“Then hand the phone over to her, and I’ll come by and pick you up tomorrow, yes?” The girl gives an enthusiastic response on the other end, before he hears her run off and then call on her mother, who, only a few moments later, takes the phone from her daughter.

“_Hello?”_

“Hullo, esteemed younger sister. It seems thy have been found out.”

“_What on earth are you talking about?”_

“Tonya says you’ve gotten a boyfriend, and asked if she could stay over at my place tomorrow so you could go out with said boyfriend.” There’s a sputtering on the other end as she chokes.

“_She what now?” _

“Is she wrong?”

“_… No. But, I didn’t have anything planned with him.”_ Babylon sounds unsure, and bashful, probably embarrassed about being found out before she got to the point of being comfortable with telling anyone. Crowley can understand that, and keeps himself from teasing her any more than he already has. Or, you know what, a little bit more is okay, right?

“Apparently you do now. Also, when was I going to hear about this?”

_“Not until I was sure it was a sure thing.” _

“And you have been bugging me for weeks about that mystery artist. If something ever happens there, you’ll only hear something if I hear how you’re doing.”

“_Point taken. Fine, yeah, I’d be happy if you had her over for the weekend. I didn’t have anything planned with him, but if she wants to be with you for a few days, I’ll see if I can’t get out a bit myself.” _

“I live to serve. So, what do I need to prepare for the princess this time?” He asks and Babylon directs the question at her daughter. There’s chatter in the background before Babylon returns her attention to him.

“_She said she wants entirely new book with fairy tales you can read her. She’s grown tired of the ones she has already.” _Well… shit. Crowley doesn’t have any children’s books. He just has a ton of books about plants and botanic. And a few photo albums. He’ll have to drop by a bookshop then, see if he can’t find something she doesn’t already have.

“Right. Got it. I’ll pick her up tomorrow at kindergarten then. My classes end early tomorrow.”

“_Okay then. Thanks, Anthony.” _He has kept his promise to himself. He’s spending a lot more time with his family now, focusing on himself and his needs for the last month and a half. True, still a bit bummed that the mystery artist never called, but that just makes him more certain that it was a whim of the artist to draw him then, and nothing more. Life goes on. But still…

He catches the waitress’ eye and politely waves her over. She stops by his table, giving him a sincere smile.

“Yes, love?”

“He’s not here today, is he?” She shakes her head without even looking around, which makes Crowley wonder if she perhaps knows the guy. She must, though, right? She doesn’t go around giving customers random notes and sketches from other random customers, right? Still, while he doesn’t know her, he understands that he won’t be able to make her talk. So he asks something else.

“I’m not that familiar with the area. Do you know if there are any bookshops around here? Kind of an emergency.” Not really, but the quicker he gets this over with, the better he’ll feel. He doesn’t want to take a chance at forgetting his promise. The waitress smiles, in a way that makes him feel like he’s butt of a joke or something, the mischievous way her lips curl upwards.

“Of course, sir. Right down the road, actually. Belonging to a A. Z. Fell. Trust me, you’ll see what building it is when you get there. The owner’s got a wide array of books and genres, I’m sure you’ll find something there. He may be look soft with his blonde curls, but he’s got a good understanding of what people need.” He raises a brow at the odd explanation but nods anyway. He asked her, after all.

“Thanks.” He leaves a generous amount of tips again, just like the first time, and heads out after he finishes his coffee. He walks down the street and thinks for a moment that he really should have asked for a description of the shop. Just because he knows the name of the shop owner doesn’t mean he’ll immediately find the shop. But as he wanders down, and notices a really old looking building, he stops in his steps. The waitress was right. He knows which building it is the moment he lays eyes on it. It’s really, _really _old looking, and the name of the owner is printed on a big board atop the door. He ascends the steps and opens the door, hears a bell chime softly above him as he enters. Crowley takes a look around the shop. There’s the smell of old books, but it’s weirdly pleasant, and homey, warm. It appears more like a cosy library than an actual bookshop.

Weird.

He hears something shatter on the floor and startles.

“Oh dear!” He hears someone say, and sees a blonde kneel down with a bunch of paper towels bunched up in his hands.

“You alright there?” Crowley asks, walking closer. He isn’t sure whether this man is a customer or the owner, but what kind of customer walks around with a cup of tea inside a bookshop anyways? Crowley’s sure if the man is a customer, he’d be a bit more freaked out.

“Oh, y-yes!” The blonde stammers. “I’m just very clumsy, I’m afraid.” He tells the ginger as he begins to carefully pick up the pieces of his teacup.

“Once I’ve cleaned up, I’ll be right with you. I’m sorry you have to wait.” Right, this is the shop-owner then. The waitress had mentioned he was a blonde, soft-looking man, hadn’t she?

“No worries. You need any help?” He offers and the man looks up with a truly beatific, radiant smile.

“Oh no, I’ll be fine. Just give me a second.”

The waitress never mentioned he is cute as fuck, though. Crowley’s very glad his sunglasses covers half his face, because he’s pretty damn sure his cheeks have heated up a bit. Screw trying to ever find the mystery artist who obviously doesn’t want him to model for him again. This is probably ten thousand times better! At least Crowley knows where this cutie is. The man stands up with all the mess and disappears into the back. In the meantime, Crowley browses the shelves, coming across a lot of old, worn but well-loved books. But all of them are far too advanced for what he needs. So he checks other shelves, finds newer books he’s somewhat familiar with, as in he’s heard about them but never read them, but they are still not what he’s out after.

“So, what do you need help with?” Crowley jumps and nearly pulls out the entire shelf he’s been tapping at.

“Oh shit, sorry!” He apologises as he slams his hands onto the books to stop them from falling out.

“No, it’s my fault.” The blonde says with a strangled voice. It’s enough of a clue for Crowley to understand that he’s very worried about his books and he cautiously pulls back, waiting for books to fall out again and so relieved when they stay in place. “What are you looking for?”

“Um, children’s books. Preferably several ones, if you got any. A waitress at the coffee shop down the street directed me here.” Something flashes across the blonde’s face, but it’s so brief and quick that Crowley believes he imagines it.

“Certainly. This way.” The blonde gestures for him to follow, and he’s led deeper into the bookshop, which is now beginning to resemble a maze, really.

“What do they like?”

“Exciting tales. She’s actually not such a big fan of princess stories, or well, princess stories where princesses are damsels in need of saving.”

“Your daughter is quite the independent girl, then?”

“Niece.” Crowley corrects him. “She’s my niece. I, uh, I don’t have kids.”

“My apologies.” The shop owner says. “I didn’t mean to presume anything. But you must be close if you’re looking for fairy tales for her.” Normally such a comment would have made Crowley snap at the man in annoyance, because who gives a complete stranger the right to nose about a customer’s private life, but he seems like such a nice fellow.

Plus, as stated not even ten minutes prior, he’s cute, so that’s a plus. For him. In his favour, the ginger thinks.

“Yeah. Really close. My sister lived with me when she was pregnant, and for a while after…” He trails off, unsure as to why he shares that, and feels a bit stupid for it too, but the man smiles at him.

“It must have been very reassuring for her to have such a reliable brother to help her.” And, really, that statement makes Crowley actually stop in his tracks. He’s never once thought of it like that. To him, it had all seemed so natural. Take care of his little sister when everyone else (except for Beelzebub) turned their backs on her, and she was so scared and didn’t know what to do, of course he was going to be on her side, of course he was going to help her. And while he knows she’s thankful for his help that time… He never once thought of himself as a reliable older brother. Because really, when has he ever been? But to hear this stranger say it, that it must have been a great help for Babylon… It makes him feel… _better_ about himself. It certainly boosts his self-confidence, which has taken a critical hit right before Christmas. The blonde notices how he stops following, and turns back around.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I say too much?” And he seems so nervous, and worried that Crowley can’t help but sympathize. He swallows and clears his throat.

“No, uh,” he croaks, “I just hadn’t thought of it like that. It was, uh, well, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean to overstep. Truly, if you think I did, please tell me.” Normally, to any other person, Crowley would have said that; you bloody well did overstep a whole lot of boundaries! But the man seems like a really nice man, and also so easily worried about people being offended by him being nice to them. And somehow, that doesn’t make Crowley feel any good.

“No, no it’s okay. It was, it was nice to hear that, really.” He says, before holding out a hand.

“Um, I’m Anthony J. Crowley. Just, er, just call me Crowley.” Crowley prides himself on being a rather smooth individual, the cool dude, but this is as awkward as it can get. Where’s his suave moves run off to?

“Aziraphale Fell. It’s a pleasure.” And the man is beaming at him again, and it’s all Crowley can do to shake his hand firmly back. Seriously, where the fuck are his smooth moves? But before he can wonder much more about it, the man, Aziraphale, turns arounds, grabs a book and pulls it gently from the shelf, looks it over quickly before nodding to himself. Crowley expects him to hand the book over, but he puts it back on the shelf and moves along, manicured fingers lightly tracing over the back of the books on the shelves. Crowley finds himself watching the hands more than the books, wondering if they’re as soft as they appear. He quickly shakes his head.

_‘What the bloody hell?’_

“Ah, these two, they might be what the young lady wants.” Aziraphale says, pulling out two books from the shelves, looking them over before handing them over to Crowley, who is now _very _thankful to have something to occupy his hands with. He just wishes he had something to keep his mouth occupied too, so he doesn’t say anything stupid. Now that sounded incredibly dirty, but he bites his tongue to keep from groaning in annoyance at his own thoughts. Because this can quickly become awkward, even more awkward than it is.

Fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with him? He looks down at the books, reads the tiny excerpt on the back of the books and nods.

“Yeah, I think she’ll like these.” He agrees. No damsels’ in distress, but fairy tales none-the-less. He bets Tonya have never heard of these before. Babylon has the more modern fairy tales in the shelves at home. Crowley hopes he’ll be the cool uncle with the best stories now. Aziraphale smiles at him again, in a way that really makes Crowley’s insides do funny things. He really needs to get out of there before he says something stupid, which will make him utterly unable to come back because he feels like he really wants to come back here. He wants to come back and talk some more with this bookshop owner.

He doesn’t know why, but he wants to come back. Because Aziraphale seems like a very nice man, sweet even. It appeals to the ginger. He likes sweet. Sweet seem very nice. Yeah, good and nice and-

“So, um, how much for these?” Crowley asks, trying to stop his brain from going off on a wild goose chase and leave him behind without any braincells around Aziraphale.

“Oh, right, come along.” Aziraphale rings the books up, and Crowley pays for them. As he picks them up, he is struck with the notion that he doesn’t want to leave, not without saying something, at least. So he hovers by the cash register for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. Something smooth, suave, something that will have the bookshop owner swoon a bit and look forward to him coming back.

“So, um, if Tonya likes these, I’ll come back for more, er, if you got any?” Oh so smooth, he’s the smoothest man to ever smooth.

“Of course!” Aziraphale exclaims happily. “I’ve got plenty more somewhere. You’re welcome back any time!”

“Right.” Crowley is momentarily stunned and turns half-way around, stopping for a moment, staring at Aziraphale, before stammering.

“L-later then?” And then he’s literally running out the door, finds his Bentley, gets into the driver’s seat, deposits the books in the passenger seat before just sitting there, staring at the wheel. Then he falls forward, forehead connecting to the wheel, and the horn blares loudly and he reels back.

“_Fucking fuck-_“

Inside the shop, Aziraphale is crouching down behind the counter, face hidden behind his hands. Oh dear lord, the ginger had walked into his shop and bought books, and then said he’d come back if his niece liked them. And the blonde can’t wait for that day to come. He doesn’t need the number now, doesn’t ever need to call. If Crowley comes back, they can get to know each other the normal way, and he can avoid the entire awkwardness forever.

Tickety- b-

There’s the sound of a blaring car-horn outside and the blonde jumps startled, knocking into the counter hard enough to have half the contents atop of it fall off.

“Oh for god’s sake!”


End file.
